


Toy Soldier

by Xiaojian



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gore, M/M, Violence, heed the warnings, really gross stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiaojian/pseuds/Xiaojian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medical procedures always take time to develop. The process one undergoes to become a full-body cyborg did not start out smoothly. Especially when it was performed by a group of sadists with nothing but time, resources, and power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toy Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request from mgs-kink on dreamwidth. Baby's first gore fic...

The dread started when he woke up and realized he could think clearly.

Ever since he’d been captured, his captors had kept him sedated and feeble with a cocktail of drugs that clouded his mind and sapped the strength from his limbs. He woke only for minutes at a time, able to do nothing but stare at the scientists leaning over him, monitoring his vitals, taking measurements, and pressing things into his body that he couldn’t feel.

Today was different.

His eyes opened and instantly slammed shut again when he was faced with a bright, fluorescent light glaring down at him.

A voice spoke from beside him.

“Looks like Sleeping Beauty is finally up. Rise and shine, kid, today’s the most important day of your life!”

A firm hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes again, squinting until his pupils adjusted to the light.

Three scientists loomed over him, clad in lab coats and surgical masks. The one with his hand on Raiden’s shoulder was tall and lanky, with a head of short red hair and a thick pair of glasses. He was adjusting something around Raiden’s bicep – a restraint. 

The dread got worse when he raised his head and realized two things: He was completely naked, and all of his limbs were strapped down to a cold, hard operating table.

The scientist on his left, a short, bald man, spoke.

“Don’t bother trying to get out of those. Actually – go ahead, do bother. It’s amusing watching people try to wriggle free.”

Raiden squinted, trying to focus on the tray that the bald scientist was wheeling over. There was a vast array of surgical equipment on it, and some of it looked a little excessive for use on humans.

The third scientist in the room chimed in from the foot of his bed, adjusting his gloves. He looked younger than the other two, with long, dark hair pulled into a rather un-sterile ponytail.

“The procedure will come as a bit of a shock to you, but don’t freak out, we’ve got you wired up with the best nanomachines around. You don’t have to worry about bleeding out.”

“Beckett, vitals looking good?” The bald man addressed the redheaded scientist.

Beckett nodded, strolling leisurely around the bed to survey the instruments on the tray. He picked up a nasty-looking tool that resembled a pair of groove-joint pliers, examining it carefully.

“We’re set to go. No point in waiting around, so why don’t we start small?”

He leaned over Raiden, picking up his left hand with a tight grip of his wrist.

The panic set in when the doctor positioned the pliers around his pinky finger.

Raiden jerked his hand away, eyes wide.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Beckett chuckled. His hand still grasped the air where Raiden’s wrist was a moment ago, and he patiently reached for the wrist again, grabbing it and dragging it back towards him.

“This process is very…particular. We need to get your body used to the trauma for everything to go smoothly.”

Raiden’s heart started felt like a jackhammer in his chest as the scientist adjusted the pliers around his finger.

“What…what are you going to do?”

His voice came out thin and shaky. He hated himself for sounding so weak.

“Oh, just this.”

Raiden yelped in pain as the finger was snapped back, parallel to his arm. Beckett twisted the finger around cruelly, playing with it like a child with a toy. Tears pricked at the back of Raiden’s eyes, but he breathed deep and held them there. He’d experienced much worse injuries in Liberia, he reminded himself. This was nothing to cry over.

The scientist let go of the finger, watching approvingly as it dangled pathetically from Raiden’s hand at a completely wrong angle.

“It looks pretty stupid, doesn’t it? No worries, they’ll all be cut off by the time we’re done anyway.”

Raiden tried to sit up, only to be pushed down by the leather straps on his legs and torso.

“No…no, you don’t need to do this. Look, what do you want from me?”

The young scientist’s eyes were bright as he came to stand at his right side, holding a small hacksaw in his hand. He patted Raiden’s arm.

“Just relax! This is exactly what we need from you, you don’t need to do anything but sit back.”

“No, please, just – tell me what you want, I’ll tell you anything…” His voice rose rapidly in pitch, but he couldn’t get it under control.

The scientist ignored him and looked at Beckett, holding the saw up questioningly. Beckett nodded.

“Sure. There’s no set order we’re following, or anything. But Mason?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t fuck up this time.”

Mason looked down at the saw, tightening his grip around it. He pressed Raiden’s right hand flat against the table, lining up the saw above his thumb.

“I won’t.”

He started sawing. Raiden screamed.

“Stop! Please, stop! I swear, I’ll do anything you want! I promise! Anything!”

In the back of his head, he thought that Snake would be ashamed of him for breaking so quickly. The shame that realization brought him did more than the pain did to make his eyes start watering.

Mason hesitated, looking up at Raiden’s face. He stared desperately at him, neck straining off of the table.

“Please, don’t do this…please, just stop...anything you want, _anything, I’ll_ -”

“Mason!” Beckett snapped at him, before carelessly taking Raiden’s left index finger between the pliers and snapping it with a sickening crack. Raiden screamed again, a shrill, childish sound of sheer pain.

The young scientist nodded, and went back to sawing at Raiden’s thumb. Raiden did his best to hold back tears, keeping up a constant litany of _no_ , _please_ , and _stop_. 

Eventually, the saw hit the table, metal grinding against metal with a sound that rivaled nails on a chalkboard. Mason picked up his severed thumb, examining it with interest before discarding it and moving the saw back to his index finger. On his left, Beckett clamped the pliers down on his middle finger.

He was going to die.

It was something he came to accept, as the scientists hacked and snapped his hands into useless, bloodied stumps. There was no other reason they would being doing this. They didn’t want information. They just wanted to see him suffer.

When the last finger came off, Beckett looked approvingly at their work, clapping his hands and returning to the tray. He handed something to the bald scientist.

“Park, if you would do the honor?”

The sight of the saw in Park’s hand made Raiden feel like fainting. Park walked to his side, looking over his naked body as if searching for something. Eventually, he placed the saw against Raiden’s shoulder, his other hand pressing painfully down on Raiden’s chest.

“Hold still, if you don’t want to make this worse for yourself.”

 _Fuck that_. 

Raiden started thrashing the moment the saw cut through his skin, his limbs banging painfully against the unforgiving surface of the table. He was screaming constantly now, mostly incoherent shrieking, but cut through with interjections of desperation.

“Don’t!”

“Please!”

“Stop!”

“I’m begging you!”

“No! God, no!”

Through the red haze of pain, he noticed a sensation that he was sure he must be imagining. Somebody running their hands through his hair. He looked around wildly, expecting to see Rose, waking him up and telling him it was all a dream, he’d just been having a nightmare, that’s all.

Instead he saw Mason, eyes reassuring, stroking his hair and saying “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine!”

Somehow, it was this bizarre assurance that set him off, struggling with all his strength to free himself of his bonds as the saw cut through his arm, agonizingly slow. Somehow, he succeeded. His right arm broke loose, and he shoved Mason away from him, the scientist falling to the floor. He grabbed Park by his neck, and pushed him back into the tray. The sound of clattering metal and muffled curses filled the room as the surgical instruments were knocked everywhere and Park struggled to keep his balance.

Raiden groped for the saw, trying to figure out where the handle was. His breath was coming in heavy, irregular gasps. He couldn’t find the handle. Where was the goddamn handle?

Oh right. He didn’t have fingers any more.

He finally found it, and his palm grasped for purchase at the metal grip, slick with blood. He began to push it up out of his shoulder, but he was stopped by someone slapping him, hard, in the face.

Beckett grabbed his wrist in a crushing grip, and pinned him to the table with another hand on his neck. He stared down at Raiden with unrestrained anger.

“That was a hell of a mistake, boy.”

Raiden whimpered.

“Mason!”

The scientist scrambled to his feet, rushing back to the side of the table to hold down Raiden’s right arm. Beckett finished cutting through the bone of his left shoulder, ripping the arm free of his body to a gruesome soundtrack of snapping tendons. The cool air brushing against the exposed inner workings of his arm felt distinctly unnatural. Raiden felt bile in the back of his throat, suppressed the urge to vomit.

Beckett shouted something that Raiden couldn’t hear over the sound of blood rushing through his head. He walked around the table, trading out the bloody hacksaw for one with teeth that looked much larger, much duller, and much less effective at cutting through bone.

Deep breaths. Just keep breathing.

Beckett dangled the saw in front of Raiden’s face.

“We were trying to do this the easy way, but I guess you just wanna make life harder on yourself, don’t ya?”

More sawing. More screaming. More begging. It felt like it went on for ages.

“Hey, it makes no difference to me if you’re into this kinda thing. None of us would be here if we didn’t find it pretty damn appealing ourselves, y’know? There’s just something so…”

 _Snap_.

“…Invigorating about cutting a man apart, piece by bloody piece.”

He held Raiden’s severed arm out to him. Raiden could hear the grin in his voice.

“Need a hand?”

The crying started when they started on his legs.

The shame was nothing in the face of the unbearable pain. He bawled like a child, breath coming erratically in hitched sobs, interspersed with weak, incoherent pleas for mercy. He couldn’t tell which ones he said out loud and which ones he shouted in his head, they ran together into one long mess.

 _Please please please oh god please no no please why stop please stop why are you doing this no stop pleasepleasepleaseplease_ …

He remembered reading once that crying evolved as a distress call, to signal that you were in pain and needed help. He wanted someone, anyone – His mother? Rose? Snake? – to hear him, come to him, protect him and make everything okay again.

His voice was slipping away from him. He couldn’t muster up the strength to scream when they ripped the last of his legs off. All that came out was a pathetic mewl.

He wanted his arms back. He wanted to wipe the tears off his face, out of his eyes. They were making his vision blurry, turning the harsh light into a fuzzy array of hexagons. 

The scientists were having a conversation. He tuned them out. He didn’t want to hear their voices. He focused on trying to drown out the pain with something else.

Anger.

How dare they do this to him? What kind of monsters were they? Raiden let his indignation, shame, and hatred bubble to the surface, waiting for them to come back over so he could spit his anger in their faces.

The conversation dragged on, their voices growing agitated. Raiden tried to focus on their words, his mind scrambled and running in a million different directions.

The other two scientists were trying to convince Mason of something. The young scientist kept shaking his head. Beckett gestured pointedly to Raiden, Park nodding his agreement to whatever he had just said.

Mason slowly backed away from them, holding up his hands as if warding off something.

“Just...I really don’t think this is the best idea...”

Beckett grabbed the front of his lab coat, pinning him with an intense glare. His surgical mask slipped down off of his mouth, and he made no move to replace it. His teeth were bared in a snarl.

“Do you know how long we’ve been holed up in this godforsaken complex? I haven’t gotten laid in far too goddamn long. Park’s probably forgotten his wife’s face by now, let alone how her pussy feels.”

“I mean, I know how you feel. But with him the way he is now, I still don’t -”

Beckett let go of the other scientist with a roll of his eyes. He walked back over to Raiden, who worked up the willpower to glare at him through the pain.

“Fine. Be a prude. Do you really think they would give us such a pretty toy…”

His fingernails dragged along Raiden’s blood-soaked chest, pausing at his chin.

“…If they didn’t want us to play with it?”

Raiden’s retort was cut short when Beckett suddenly grabbed his lower jaw, forced his mouth open, and thrust his gloved fingers deep into his mouth. They tasted of blood and rubbing alcohol, and Raiden started gagging almost instantly, retching and struggling to get them out. He only succeeded in making Beckett laugh and push them deeper. Park grinned, pushing at Mason’s shoulder.

“Look, see? He’s gagging for it. Literally.”

Raiden couldn’t breathe. Park’s smug comment decided his course of action.

 _I’ll show you who’s a fucking toy, you son of a bitch_.

He bit down. Hard.

Beckett noticed him opening his jaws just a second too late. He yanked his fingers out, but Raiden’s teeth still caught the tip of his middle finger, nearly severing it. Beckett cradled the hand to his chest, eyes screwed shut as he let out a stream of curses. Mason ran to his side, asking to see the damage.

“FUCK! Fucking...bitch…son of a…my fucking finger…Jesus Christ, almost bit the fucking thing off…”

Raiden grinned smugly. 

_Let’s see how you like it_.

His grin faltered, however, when Beckett turned his gaze back on him. He had assumed the scientist would be in too much pain to care about him. The raw fury smoldering behind Beckett’s eyes told him otherwise. Raiden swallowed loudly as Beckett reached for one of the knives that had fallen on the floor, his eyes never straying from Raiden’s.

“You.”

It was a whisper.

“You little whore.”

Beckett roared and lunged at him, jumping on top of the table and straddling Raiden. He had no limbs to pin down now, so Beckett went straight for his head, grabbing his jaw again and slicing furiously down the right side of his face. Raiden screamed in agony as the skin was severed from the lower half of his face, the cutting unsteady and jagged, sending blood cascading down his neck and into his mouth. Beckett shouted incoherently as he worked, alternating between angry whispers and violent shouts.

“…fucking…learn your goddamn _place_ …little _whore_ thinks he can just…fucking _teach_ you to try a stunt like that…”

Raiden could do nothing but scream, although they were more like weak wheezes than proper screams. By now, his voice was almost completely gone.

When the skin was hanging loosely from his neck, Beckett threw aside the cutting implement.

“Park!”

Park surveyed the equipment he was putting back on the tray, reaching for a few different tools, hesitating each time. Eventually, he handed something to Beckett. A moment later, the grinding sound of a saw buzzing filled the air. 

Raiden wanted to faint, wanted to feel nothing, but the burning pain everywhere in his body kept him agonizingly conscious as Beckett carelessly sawed through the bone and sinew of his lower jaw. Beckett took his sweet time, enjoying the tears that streamed down Raiden’s face, his desperate attempts to keep screaming, even with no voice left to do so.

After what seemed like hours, Beckett grabbed his bloody, eviscerated mess of a jaw and just pulled, ripping it straight out of his head, like you’d pull the string out of a party popper. The ludicrousness of that image coming to Raiden’s mind made him want to laugh, but all that came out was a garbled moan.

“Awww,” Park lamented, taking the jaw from Beckett’s hands and turning it over in his hands. “Now he can’t beg.”

Beckett grinned madly. His entire face was coated in a thin layer of gore from the spinning saw, the lunatic fire in his eyes shining through the narrow spray of blood on his glasses.

“Can’t he now?”

He reached for the button of his pants, undid it. His injured hand cradled what was left of Raiden’s face in an absurd parody of affection.

“Well? Are you going to beg me not to fuck you?”

It took a minute for Raiden’s mind to process that Beckett actually expected a response. The man suddenly seemed very patient, and he stroked his cock as he waited for Raiden to attempt to say something back.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave your modesty intact.” 

He chuckled.

“Don’t, and I’ll assume you’re a whore who wants me to do whatever I damn well like.”

 _Bastard. Bastard, bastard, bastardbastardbastard_ …

Raiden imagined a million scenarios in which Beckett would die a painful death at his hands while he struggled to obey his request.

He knew damn well he couldn’t talk without a tongue or jaw. He tried anyway. 

All that came out was a pitiful imitation of a whimper, distorted and inhuman.

Park cocked his head.

“What was that? You’ll have to speak a little more clearly.”

Raiden closed his eyes and gave up.

He just gave up.

There was no point in struggling any more. These sadistic bastards would do whatever they wanted to him no matter what he had to say. There was no point in stretching it out.

“Look at that! Told you he wanted it. Guess he just wanted us to skip the foreplay.” Beckett patted the remnants of his cheek. “Luckily for you, we’re very obliging.”

Raiden refused to open his eyes. He felt Beckett adjusting himself, weight lifting off his torso. Park spoke up, concern in his voice.

“Shouldn’t we knock his upper teeth out first?”

Beckett considered that for a moment.

“Nah. Can’t do much with only one set of teeth. You try punching a hole with one half of a hole puncher.”

With that, he shoved his cock down the grisly, gaping maw of Raiden’s throat.

 _Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Whatever you do, don’t try to scream. It’ll just make it worse_.

“Damn,” Beckett grunted, “It’s fucking warm in here. Feels great. Wish I’d tried this sooner.”

 _Do. Not. Scream_.

He started thrusting messily in and out. Raiden felt a roiling in his chest, and a bitter taste filled his nose. The choking sensation in his throat got worse. He realized he’d vomited. With Beckett’s cock fucking his throat, it had nowhere to go.

_Don’tscreamdon’tscreamdon’tscreamIcan’tscreamohgodpleasenogetoutgetoutstoppleaseI’mbeggingyouohgoddon’tletmedieI’mgoingtodieI’mgoingtodieI’mgoingtodie_

When all that was left was that thought, he was suddenly freed. Beckett slid out of his throat, laughing. He flung his head to the side, desperate to rid his throat of the acrid bile.

“Mason? How ya doin’ there, buddy? Seems like you aren’t too opposed to this after all, hm?”

Morbidly curious, Raiden craned his neck to see around Beckett. Mason was staring with obvious interest and arousal, although his face still held a conflicted look.

“Want a turn? I’m perfectly willing to share.”

Mason’s eyes flashed at the thought, fingers twitching.

“…Maybe…”

Raiden wondered when he was finally going to lose consciousness. At the rate things were going, the answer seemed to be ‘never.’

“…But…I don’t want to do something that weird…maybe just…”

Park laughed.

“Here. Mind if I show him how it’s done?”

Beckett obligingly climbed off the table, wiping a bit of gore off his lips. Park took his place, eyes roaming over the remnants of Raiden’s body.

Raiden had resigned himself to another throat-fucking, so he actually felt a measure of relief when Park picked up a scalpel and placed it against his stomach. One of the only parts of his body still intact.

He leaned down to Raiden’s ear, whispered to him in a conspiratorial tone.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

He pressed deep with the scalpel, drew a line downward. Clean, straight, and neat, but deep.

“I never did get the appeal of anal. Guess I’ll just have to make you a cunt, huh?”

He pulled down his blood-spattered pants, revealing that he was already hard. He lined himself up against the slit he had made in Raiden’s skin.

Raiden could only let out a shaking sob as he pushed himself into the wound. The unnatural feeling of something entering him where there was no orifice to use made all of his body’s senses revolt, telling Raiden to do something about the invader. If only he could.

Park continued to whisper to him, absurdly gentle in his tone, if not his words.

“Too bad you were born with a dick. You would have made a hell of a woman. Pretty woman’s looks wasted on a guy like you. You could have had any rich fag wrapped around your little finger, and you decided to go play soldier?”

 _…Like I had a choice_.

“This, now this is a much better life path for you. Like Beckett said earlier. God puts pretty toys on this Earth for people to play with them. A toy soldier is still a toy.”

“Park.”

Beckett interrupted, resting his hand on the other scientist’s shoulder. Park acknowledged him, but didn’t stop his thrusts in and out of Raiden’s stomach.

“We should move on to the grand finale. We don’t want to wait too long to take the head, and besides, poor little Mason’s about to come in his pants.”

Park nodded, sliding out of him. Raiden vomited again at the sight of his gore-covered cock, more blood than bile seeping out of his ruined throat.

The sound of the saw buzzing filled the room again. Raiden waited to die.

He didn’t know what he expected it to feel like, when his head was severed. Would he stay conscious for a moment after the cut was made? Or would it all turn to black right away? Either way, he welcomed the darkness he was sure to come.

It didn’t.

He felt the saw slice cleanly through the back of his head, felt his head being lifted and pulled off of his body. He pressed his eyes shut, waited for the sensation of breathing - of living - to stop.

It didn’t. 

_How?_

He opened his eyes. It was disorienting. He – no, his head – was in Park’s hands, and his view tilted nauseatingly as the scientist turned him over, examining the gore dripping from his neck, watching the ways his eyes followed his actions. He whistled.

“It really is amazing what nanotech can do these days.”

“Isn’t it?”

He felt himself being snatched out of Park’s hands, and his vision blurred as Beckett tossed him carelessly through the air. A startled Mason caught him, looking in awe at the head in his hands. He brought Raiden’s eyes up to his level, feeling around the bottom of his neck, fingers delicate, but insistent.

“Wow…” he breathed, eyes wide. “It worked. I can’t wait to see how you turn out…”

Raiden heard movement behind him, heard Beckett shout for Park to help him move something. He couldn’t turn and see what they were doing.

Mason continued to admire his battered, tear-streaked face, bloodstained fingers winding their way through his hair, stroking it appreciatively. His eyes were wide, his breath heavy.

“The last guy…he didn’t make it this far.”

He leaned in, slowly, pressing a disturbingly gentle kiss to Raiden’s upper lip, running his tongue along his upper teeth.

“You’re so strong.”

Beckett clapped his hands.

“And here we are. Might as well let the old body have some fun before it gets replaced. Mason, why don’t you do the honors?”

Mason pulled back from Raiden's head, his eyes growing wider still, his breathing filling the tense silence.

“You mean…I mean…are you sure…?

“Damn straight. Now would you get over and fuck him already before you pass out from all the blood goin’ to your dick?”

Mason almost dropped Raiden’s head in his rush to the table. Park grabbed him out of his unsteady hands, laughing. He looked down at Raiden, grinning.

“Hey there bud, wanna say goodbye to your old body? We’re giving it a nice send-off party.”

Park turned him around to face the operating table. His mutilated, limbless body was flipped onto its front, and Mason was self-consciously crawling up on the table and straddling him. Raiden watched in horror as he unbuttoned his pants with trembling hands.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see this. He just wanted to die already.

Park pried them open with his fingers, chuckling.

“Now, now, don’t want to miss the excitement, do you?”

Mason mumbled something to Beckett. Beckett laughed.

“Just use his blood. There’s plenty of it to go around.”

Mason looked feverish as he slathered his gloved hands in the blood pooling around Raiden’s leg stumps, rubbing it onto his cock.

He let out a shuddering breath as he penetrated the dismembered body, moving slowly at first to let himself adjust. As he quickened his pace, he wrapped his arms around Raiden’s chest, nuzzling his face into his back as he let out small noises of pleasure.

Beckett rolled his eyes, walking to the other side of the table and climbing on top of it. He grabbed his disfigured neck and resumed his earlier method of violating Raiden’s throat. Mason barely seemed to notice, as lost as he was in pleasure.

“Might as well finish what I started. I’m telling ya, this is the best fuck I’ve had in a while. Do we have any more operations like this lined up soon?”

Raiden felt a strange sensation creeping over him, building on top of the shame, the pain, the fear, and the sadness. He didn’t recognize the feeling of blacking out until his world finally, blissfully, went dark.


End file.
